Thursday, December 7, 2006

Here’s to you, open source frigtards



So Larry calls me, howling, and says, Remember that French frigtard who said he’d just “fucked Larry Ellison” and so I canceled a deal to buy his dumbass company, JBoss? And so he went and sold it instead to the frigtards at Red Hat? Well, now, the obnoxious Frenchiepoo is walking out on Red Hat, as expected, but not after he first went around mouthing off to the press about how the place sucks. Guess maybe he figured that he was never gonna get his earn-out bonus now that I’ve trashed Red Hat’s stock with my little announcement about cloning their software. So tell me this. What does Red Hat now have, for its $350 million? All of the JBoss dudes have left. The software itself is open-source, meaning JBoss doesn’t own it. So what does Red Hat have? A handful of dust, brother. And some bad publicity. Ha! And where this little caniche Fleury gonna go? Who’s gonna ever hire him or give him venture money? This is a guy who once told a customer, “Suck my dick.” I swear to God. We found this out in our due diligence. Along with the fact that not only does Monsieur Caniche not own his IP, in fact someone else, um, kinda does. Yeah. Should the patent holder (cough IBM cough) decide to pull the trigger, Red Hat is now on the hook for the damages. They can write that check just after they write one to Mr. Bill for the IP that their Linux infringes. Oh, it’s a world of merde, my friend. Do you suppose it has ever occurred to any of these morons that I never intended to buy this POS company, and was only dangling big numbers out there so that I could bump up the price that Red Hat would have to pay when its hair-trigger CEO got all huffy and rushed in to “outbid” me? Brother, this is like playing checkers with chimps. Hey, Mr. French dude, and Mr. CEO of Red Hat, whose name escapes me, I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again: You don’t fuck Larry; Larry fucks you.


Monday, August 28, 2006

The Sony visit


So it’s Howard Stringer and about 15 Japanese dudes all wearing identical black suits, looking super solemn and contrite, not saying a word and just staring down at their identical black Japanese business shoes. We go up to the conference room and Howard says he is here with his top management team to apologize profusely for the flaming batteries. Then he looks at his guys, and nods, and two of them stand up and leave the room. Howard goes on for a while more about how Sony will make this right and accept the blame, will pay all the costs, does not want to lose us as a customer, and so on. Suddenly the guys who left come back dressed in kimonos. They stand there, rigid as boards, staring straight ahead. Stringer goes, The man on the right is Yamamoto-san. He runs the division that designed the faulty batteries. He is going to commit seppuku. The other man is his second. He will assist him.

Stringer nods, and I swear this is true, the guy on the right pulls out a knife. Larry’s eyes just bug out of his friggin head. He’s practically got drool coming out of the corners of his mouth. I start to speak but Larry grabs my arm and says, Don’t interrupt, You must let him do it, or you’ll dishonor him. I’m like, Dishonor him? The guy’s about to cut his stomach open in my friggin conference room!

Larry says, Steve, trust me, just go with this. I had a guy from NEC do this once in my office. It’s incredible. After he cuts out his intestines, his second will slice his head off. Then the others will carry him out on their shoulders. Oh God! I love the Japanese.

But I said, Look, Howard, I’m sorry, but I can’t let your guy do this. Howard says, Well, if you dishonor him like this, he’ll have to do it back at the hotel or something, and the shame will hang over his entire family. And I’m like, Whatever, Howard, we can’t just have guys killing themselves in our conference rooms, it’s bad for the vibe, I’m sorry. Please. Everyone. Just go.

So they all file out and Larry says, You know what, buddy? Sometimes you really disappoint me. And he stomps out after them, asking Stringer whether they really are going to do this back at the hotel, and if so where are they staying, and can he attend?

So, that’s how I spent my day. Same old same old. How about you?


Larry just shows up without calling

And he bursts into my office and says, Buddy, I know what you need, we’re gonna do something radical, like in that movie where Stella gets her groove back. I’m like, Larry, if you’re saying I need to fly to Jamaica and get boned by a black dude who’s half my age, forget it. Been there, done that, and it doesn’t work. Remember the cube iMac? Larry goes, Huh? I tell him just forget it, I’m not doing it. Larry goes, Um, Steve, well, I, uh — wait. What did you just say? I’m like, Look, I’m not going there again, so forget it. He goes, Um, yeah. Okay. Well, look, I, um, that’s not what I meant. I was talking about you getting some punani, my brother. Some strange.

He goes, Because we’ve got this girl working in sales, I hired her myself, met her in a bar in L.A. and hired her on the spot, I think she’s like seventeen years old or something, dropped out of high school to work at Hooters. No lie. So I put her in sales. She’s been working for us for eight months and I’m pretty sure she still doesn’t even know what we make. I love it!

So I’ve been grooming her for myself, but you know what, I’m gonna give her to you instead. Seriously. I want you to have her. She’s perfect. Wears those low-rider pants with the thong sticking out. She’s dumb as a bag of hammers, with giant gozungas and an ass you can bounce quarters off of. I’ve actually done that. The quarter thing. I’ve been saving her up. Put her on a special diet and exercise routine, with daily yoga lessons so she can put her legs behind her head and a full Brazilian wax at all times — you know, the usual routine. I’ve got her down to about 8% body fat and I’ve just been keeping her in a holding pattern, letting her wait. You know like when you have this perfect bottle of wine but you want to save it for a special occasion? I was planning to bring her over after my next eye-lift. Feel like a kid again, all that. But anyway, I want you to have her. No, seriously. I want you to. I’ve had her totally checked out, full physical. No STDs, not even genital warts. Fresh as a daisy.

I was about to explain that I wasn’t interested when the phone rang and my assistant tells me there’s a delegation of Sony guys in the lobby. And Larry goes, You are shitting me! Oh, bud, you have to let me stay for this.


Thursday, August 24, 2006

Larry’s worst idea yet


So he calls back and says, Okay, this one I know you’re gonna go for. I know you will. You ready? Are you? Okay. Two words: Rat Patrol. He starts laughing uncontrollably, but I just sigh and go, Larry, come on. He says, Come on what? I mean, seriously, it’ll be awesome.

Rat Patrol, for the record, is what Larry calls it when we drive his Hummer up to the city and cruise the Tenderloin in the middle of the night, wearing balaclavas and commando outfits and firing Super Soakers at transvestite hookers. You get points for how many you hit, with bonuses for letting them get as close as possible to the Hummer before you leap through the roof and open fire. We’ve done it a few times and I’ll admit, it’s pretty funny, especially when the trannies get all pissed off and start shouting and stuff. Larry aims for the face and tries to blow their wigs off.

We learned this game from Arnold. He and Charlie Sheen invented it in L.A. with a couple other guys. They call it “Commando.” But we started calling it Rat Patrol because we were hanging out the back of Larry’s Hummer like the machine gunner in the old Rat Patrol TV show. How we heard about it is that one time Arnold was up in the Valley visiting T.J. Rodgers and the two of them called Larry, saying they were in T.J.’s Hummer driving up to the city and wanted to come get us and take us along. Arnold uses paint guns instead of water cannons, which frankly I think is a little bit cruel, because those paint balls kinda sting when they hit you. The water seems a little kinder.

Anyway, Arnold says we got carte blanche on this stuff, like even if we get arrested, he’s guaranteed us a get-out-of-jail free card. Which I must say is exactly the kind of classy move you’d expect from Arnold. I mean, he’s Republican and all, but he’s not a real Republican. You know what I mean?

Larry says, Okay, so are you in or are you in? But I just sigh and go, Dude, I dunno. I’m just not up for it. Larry says, Steve, babe, I’m really starting to worry. Seriously. You’re scaring me, okay?

And once again that weird crying urge came over me. No, I said, I’m fine. I am. Really. I’ll be okay. But I gotta go. I do. Gotta go. I’ll call you back.


So Larry calls again

And he goes, I got it! Seriously. We’ll do a prank on someone. Like that guy we told we were going to make CEO of Apple, the IT guy from Pixar. Remember that? Few years ago? Guy went to all the papers and told them he was gonna be CEO of Apple, remember? Friggin hilarious! What an idiot! So maybe we call him up now and see if he’ll fall for it again. Can you imagine? Oh my God. I’m choking on my salad here. So where is that guy anyway? You still got his phone number or whatever? I go, You know, I think that guy committed suicide after that. Larry goes, No shit, really? Dammit, that frigs the whole thing up doesn’t it? Well I guess we gotta find someone else then. Hey, I got it! McNealy. Seriously. Call him up, bring him in for a fake interview, then we’ll just yell at him and badger him. Whattaya think? We can videotape it and release it on YouTube. Yeah! Right? Am I right?

This time I didn’t even say goodbye before I hung up.


So Larry calls back


And he’s like, I got it. Okay? We have one of those fake Pixar movie premier parties. We do it up in San Francisco again, invite all the chiptards from the Valley and put out a red carpet and the klieg lights and the whole deal, right? We all put on tuxedos, and we hire a bunch of fake news photographers and fake paparazzi and maybe a couple hundred fake autograph hounds. The whole deal. Like we did last time, remember? Remember that blockhead McNealy walking in thinking the whole thing was for real, like there really were Unix groupies or something who were just dying for his autograph? Brother, that was rich. Honestly. So let’s do it, right? Next weekend or something. Send out invites tomorrow.

I point out to him that Pixar doesn’t have any new movies coming out right now. He says who cares about that, we’ll make it a DVD release premier, whatever, just say we’re doing a new director’s cut of Nemo with bonus crap on the disk or whatever, and you’re invited to this super exclusive premier party. I’m like, But Larry, Pixar is not making any DVD like that. We don’t have any new products right now. He goes, Steve, who gives a shit? Who cares if you actually have a product to sell? Doesn’t mean you can’t have a release party. Hell, we do this all the time at Oracle. It’s called marketing, buddy. Have you heard of it? Can’t believe I have to explain this to you of all people. Look, Steve, you know what? I’ll even pay for it. Just to get out of the friggin house and have some fun. Whatever.

But I just sigh and go, Larry, I appreciate your intentions. I do. But a fake premier party, I dunno. Can’t get it into right now. Sorry.


So about that `monk’


The guy has been calling me, bugging the hell out of me, wanting me to make a decision about whether to give everything away, transcending to the next level. I mean I’ve had car salesmen who weren’t as obnoxious as this guy. So I kinda had some weird vibes about it and all. But at the same time the guy is very persuasive. Tells me he thinks I can develop the ability to levitate, which is something I’ve always totally wanted to do. I once spent a year working on this and almost got it, I swear. (Trivia hunters: Check out the photo at the bottom of this page. You’ll see two guys levitating at a meditation demonstration in Palo Alto in the 1980s. Behind them, seated on a couch, you’ll see a denim-clad leg. Yeah. El Jobso. No shizzle.)

Anyway, I was on the verge of writing this guy a pretty big check for his foundation (like low seven digits) in exchange for some levitation exercises. But then I got a call from Larry Ellison. Says he’s been reading the blog and just saw the photo of that monk and called right away. He’s like, Dude, that scammer clipped me for like eight million bucks a few years ago. Told me I had this special Qi power and was destined for great things. Even told me I could friggin levitate. I actually went up to Chinatown a bunch of times and sat there in some dumpy dance studio in the lotus position, jumping up and down like a friggin frigtard. Dude, trust me, run away from this guy fast. I had my goons investigate him. He’s an ex con, buddy. Did five years in federal prison someplace. I hope you didn’t give him any money. You didn’t, did you?

So I told him no, I didn’t give him any money yet. And Larry says, Buddy, what’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice. What’s the matter, bud? I go, Well, this options shit has got me down I guess. Or just getting older or something. The new smartphone thing is a piece of shit. I dunno. He says, Steve, Steve, Steve! Dude, we gotta cheer you up. Seriously. We gotta go to Hawaii or something. Or Thailand. You remember Thailand, Steve? Patpong Road, right? Those were the days, right? Am I right?

But suddenly I felt myself choking up. It was like I was gonna friggin cry, sitting there. I said, Larry, hey, I gotta go. I’ll call you back. No, I’m fine. But I gotta call you back.